


Not One Iota

by LogicGunn



Series: The Long Dark [8]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Long Dark (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Long Dark Fusion, Arguments, Bears, Fluff, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic, Rodney's POV, Survival, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26792143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn
Summary: Rodney hasn’t been this mad since Malcolm Tunney copied his corrections on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle in university and tried to pass them off as his own.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: The Long Dark [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583821
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	Not One Iota

Rodney hasn’t been this mad since Malcolm Tunney copied his corrections on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle in university and tried to pass them off as his own. He’s seething, his heart thumping to the furious beat of his swirling thoughts, his brain jumping from one memory to another, dredging up every last moment of animosity in his, admittedly conflictive, life. He thought he left all that anger and indignation behind him when he crashed on the island; there is no-one here to steal his ideas or belittle his manhood, to spark his rage and set him off like a firework, exploding in the sky in a flurry of bright, hot energy and hurtling back down to Earth at great speed only to set the tops of the trees on fire. Goddamn John and his stupidly rebellious hair and his annoyingly quirky smirk and his pitifully pained eyes when Rodney grabbed his jacket and slammed the door, storming out in a righteous fury into the swirling blizzard outside. It’ll serve John right if he doesn’t ever go back to the cabin, makes his way instead over the mountains to Thomson’s Crossing and sets up a life for himself in the farmhouse there, or maybe one of the cabins – smaller, easier to keep warm, closer to the food in the market, a better choice all round. Anything’s better than coming home to that smug, arrogant, asshole. Rodney thought better of John, thought the world of him. He should have known it was too good to be true, that John’s relaxed charm and easy-going manner was simply a veneer, a whitewash, over a cruel and sadistic interior. He’s a fake, a phoney, and asshole of the highest order, and Rodney’s glad that he knows it now, glad that he’s no longer fooled by the crinkling at the corner of his stupid eyes or the gentle strength of his strong arms or the sloping curve of his thigh pressed up against him. He can go choke on his overcooked venison or drown in his too-bitter coffee, Rodney doesn't care, not one iota, not even a tiny little quark. John can go fu- 

A rumbling growl off to Rodney’s left grabs his attention, familiar in cadence and making his already jittery stomach sink into his boots. There’s a bear, quite possibly  _ the _ bear, standing in-between the tree trunks, watching him with soulless eyes and misting breath, fur ragged and with chunks missing, scars around its face. Rodney didn’t actually clap eyes on it the first time they met, on account of being locked inside the fishing hut, but in the flesh it’s terrifying; huge and angry and- shit, Rodney has to get out of here. He glances back the way he came, realises with displeasure how far he’s walked from the cabin, too far to make it back before being mauled. But if he goes the other way...the train is in sight a little further up the tracks. He might be able to camp out in there until the bear moves on. Rodney knows from his aunt Bey’s warnings that you should never try to outrun a bear. It will only take that as a challenge and attack. If it was a grizzly, he’d just stay still and hope for the best, but black bears aren’t so easily swayed. It’s not pawing at the ground, so it’s not making to attack. What was  it Bey said? If it’s a black bear, make some noise. Wave your arms and sing out loud. Make a slow retreat. It’s a good few hundred meters to the train, but if he’s lucky he can make it. Rodney lifts his arms and waves them around, eyes on the bear for signs of attack. It doesn't move from its spot, so he racks his brains for something to sing, but panic reduces his repertoire to that god-awful Johnny Cash song that John sings when he’s quartering deer and thinks he’s being ironic. Rodney knows it inside and out, forwards and backwards, so he starts to sing, quietly at first, then louder and louder...

_ “What have I become, my sweetest friend, everyone I know goes away in the end...” _

The bear’s head turns as Rodney steps sideways along the tracks, as slow as he can make himself move considering how scared he is and all he wants to do is run. His voice fluctuates and catches on the adrenaline fluttering in his stomach, but he keeps waving and singing, louder and louder with each step, hoping to warn the bear away as he segues into  _ Ring of Fire. _ When the bear makes no move to follow, Rodney chances a glance up towards the train, feels the tightness in his chest ease a little at how close it actually is, but all relief is flipped upside down by the howling of wolves that comes through the trees towards him. All pretence at bravery and composure vanishes in an instant, and Rodney turns around and hauls ass to the train, sprinting as fast as his legs can carry him. A bear might be persuaded to leave him alone, but the wolves won’t be, they’ll come rushing out of the forest and hunt him down like a rabbit. 

Rodney reaches the train in record time, runs down the length of the cargo containers and to the open door of the passenger carriage. He pulls himself up and inside the carriage, spotting the flash of greyish pelts streaming towards him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says as he pushes at the stiff door and tries to push it shut. It’s frozen and unmoving, so he bashes it with his shoulder over and over until it crumbles under the force and slams shut, fitting snug in the doorframe. The wolves approach the train and divert all around it, and Rodney rushes to the other end of the carriage to check that the other door isn’t left wide open. Thankfully it’s closed and there are no other ways in so he gathers his wits and sits down in one of the compartments, sliding the door shut to trap his body heat in a smaller space. Hopefully, he won’t freeze to death before the wolves and the bear give up and go home. 

Rodney’s thoughts turn to John, warm and comfortable in the cabin, out of the blizzard and away from the wildlife of Great Bear Island.  _ Aptly named, _ Rodney thinks. Will he come looking for him? Will he come to harm if he does? Does he have the training to handle encounters with predators in the wild? Or did the military skip bear charming and wolf hypnosis in favour of shoot now, ask questions later. Fuck, what was Rodney thinking, coming out without the gun? He could have shot his way out of this predicament and been halfway to Thomson’s Crossing by now. Though, if he’s honest with himself, the thought of making the trip across the mountains has lost its urgency. The thrill of the chase has taken the wind out of his sails and all he’s left with is a sense of trepidation and shame. Sure, John said some unkind things to Rodney, but Rodney didn’t have to react the way he did, shouting back and storming off. He could have been an adult about it and just retreated to the bedroom to calm off. It’s so typical of him to take something that feels big and make it bigger. 

In hindsight, it was about time for them to have an argument. They’ve traded petty, meaningless insults before, but it’s never cut so deep as it did this afternoon. If he had guessed, he’d have expected them to argue long before, around the time that they discovered that they were stranded for the foreseeable (very likely forever). That it’s happened now is both a blessing and a curse. Just how far to Thomson’s Crossing would Rodney have gotten if the bear and the wolves hadn’t shown their faces? Snouts? Whatever. Would he have made it past the logging camp and up into the mountains? Or would his fury have burned out by the time he made it to the train, even without the fight or flight response? And what is John doing right now? Is he glad to be alone? Is he sitting with his feet up while he fries a venison steak on the stove? Is he re-reading Little Women in front of the fire? Maybe he’s gone to bed, stretched out on top of the blankets and made the most of the alone time. God, what is he going to say when Rodney comes home, tail tucked between his legs? But he isn’t going to find out if the damn wolves don’t get out of his way. 

Rodney lets himself flop back against the uncomfortable backrest and looks out the window where the blizzard is flittering around in the sky. It’s hard to tell the time of day at the best of times, what with Northern Canada being in a Polar Summer, but with the thick clouds and falling snow it’s impossible. How long has it been since he climbed up into the train? One hour? Two? Why are the wolves still sniffing around the wheels and not escaping the weather back into the forest? Goddamnit, he’s probably going to have to spend the night in this compartment, spread out on the rock-hard seat. With nothing better to do, no food to eat or entertainment, he lies down, pulling his jacket sleeves down over his hands and tucking them into his armpits, and settles in for the night. 

*** 

The sound of gunfire wakes Rodney up in a hurry, and he bangs his head on the table overhanging the seats. Another shot rings out, and Rodney hears the sharp cry of a wolf in pain. John’s voice calls out over the wind –  _ "RODNEY?” _ – then another couple of shots. Rodney pushes open the compartment and runs to the carriage’s back door, pulling it open just enough to poke his head outside. The wolves are gone, and John calls out again. 

“RODNEY?” 

“I’M HERE!” shouts Rodney, pushing the door open even more. “JOHN, I’M HERE!” 

John comes around the back of the train and into sight, the rifle firmly in his arms, and even from a distance, Rodney can see the way his shoulders relax in relief. John picks up the pace, sprinting to the carriage where he lets Rodney pull him up and in out of the wind. 

“Jesus,” says John, letting the rifle dangle in his arms. “I thought the wolves had eaten you. I didn’t realise for hours that you hadn’t taken the rifle, what were you thinking coming out unarmed? No, don’t answer that, you clearly weren’t thinking at all.” 

“John-” 

“You could have died, and then where would I be? Widowed and stranded alone on this goddamn island with no one to talk to but Miska. You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

“John-” 

“Don’t you ‘John’ me you jerk! I can’t believe-” 

Rodney wraps his arms around John and pulls him tight into his chest, not caring at all that the rifle is digging into his sternum. John hesitates for a moment, then brings his hands up and cradles Rodney’s face. 

“I thought I lost you, you son-of-a-bitch,” he says. 

“I’m sorry,” says Rodney. 

“Me too.” 

“Can we go home? Is it safe?” 

John steps back and looks out the door. “Safe as I can make it. Killed a couple, scared off the rest. They’re smart.” 

“Smart enough to know not to mess with you?” 

“I hope so.” 

“What about the bear?” 

“What bear?” 

“The bear I had to scare off by singing your bloody Johnny Cash songs.” 

John’s mouth breaks into a grin. “You serenaded a bear?” 

“It’s a perfectly sound strategy when dealing with a black bear,” says Rodney, tilting his chin up in defiance. “That and flailing your arms around.” 

John’s grin turns into a snort, then a snigger, then a full-on belly-aching guffaw and he doubles over in laughter until he’s almost sitting on the floor. 

“Did I say something funny?” snips Rodney, their recent argument still a little raw. 

“F-funny?” laughs John. He stands up and wipes his eyes. “I’m picturing you pin-wheeling your arms and singing Johnny Cash at a bear. Of course it’s funny!” 

The laughter starts up again and Rodney feels the corners of his mouth tug, and without his own consent he starts to laugh out loud too, the tension dissipating and affection radiating from both of them. 

“Well,” says Rodney when he finally gets himself under control. “Is it gone or not?” 

“No sign of it. Your songs must have worked. What did you sing anyway?” 

“That bloody awful, suicidal song you sing when you’re gutting deer.” 

“Wait, wait, you sang Hurt to a bear?” 

“So what if I did!” 

“That’s just priceless. You know, it’s not a Johnny Cash original. It’s a cover of Nine Inch Nails. Congratulations, you are officially a goth.” 

“Well, it’s not like I could have sung Beethoven. I’m not a piano!” 

John stops giggling then steps back and jumps down out of the train and to the ground, holding his hand out expectantly. Rodney sits down on the edge and takes John’s hand, letting him catch him as he slides to the ground, landing on both feet a little unsteady. John holds onto him until he’s stable then takes him by the hand. 

“Come on, Rodney. A nice hot shower awaits.”


End file.
